Alaire didn't know what else to say. His pride fully swollen, he could easily forget the heat; the muscle strains were melting away in it like butter on a skillet.
"What did you want to do this evening?" Kai asked at last.
"First I'd like to get something to eat," he said. The hunger had returned after that vicious practice session with a vengeance. He can't be suggesting another night on the town, could he? Not again!
"Then after that, what about going out to the tavern district again?" Kai suggested hopefully. "You're good company!"
Alaire hid his dismay. "Well, I don't know. I'd really rather not, if you want to know the truth. And Nai- tachal might need me. I am his assistant." Does he do this every night?
Kai made a face, but relented. "The day is yours, my friend. Whatever you like."
It sounded as if Kai might be willing to do without his wine for onc But Alaire was already suspecting that Kai was going to come up with a way to get drunk anyway, no matter what Alaire said o Chapt Naitachal returned to their room to see if Alaire was up yet, but arrived to find him gone. The Bard found this surprising, since he'd had little sleep, and often slept past noon at home. He must be chumming around with the Prince. Good, Maybe he can find the answers that I, so far, have failed to obtain.
Paavo's and Pikhalas' behavior confirmed, fo Dark Elf, that a dark, sinister conspiracy reached to the highest levels of Suinomen royalty. But this con- spiracy did not seem to include the Crown Princ Odd, that. They still knew little about Kai, but Alaire had managed to observe pointed to a lack of complicity on the child's behalf. If anything, the con- spiracy targeted the Crown Prince as well as himself and Alaire.
Kai is a black sheep, an outcast within the kingdom that by rights he should one day inherit. This would make him both an easy and desirable target for anyone seeking to gain power, or even to seize the Crown alto- gether.
The whole thing was troubling. Have we stumbled into a coup in progress? Or are they -- wh "they" may be -- simply laying the groundwork for one, and we happened to come along at a most inop- portune time?
He had the feeling that men close to the King were intentionally trying to shield him from foreign visitors, while the King himself had no idea that anything of the sort was going on. Naitachal certainly had the impression at supper that the King intended to receive him.
All right; let's assume that he wanted to talk to me, but his minions are keeping me from seeing him. If that is true, then enemies surround the King, and so far that list includes Paavo, Johan Pikhalas, and per- haps this Sir Jehan that Alaire mentioned last night.
Naitachal became suddenly worried for Alaire as well as himself and Kai. We are the first and most likely targets. If there is a coup, we'd be the first to die.
As the Dark Elf pondered these ominous thoughts, he heard a soft knock on the door. Though the knock was quiet, he started, reaching for his blade. The knock sounded again, and Naitachal approached the door, sword drawn.
"Yes? Who is it?" he said, ready for a garrison of sol- diers to come storming through the door. "What do you want?"
"Came to clean your room, sir," a young male voice replied timidly.
Naitachal relaxed, but not completely. Could still be a trap.
"Come in then," he said. Remember, no magic, just good swordsmanship, if this is another assassin.
The door opened slowly, and a young boy, of per- haps thirteen years, came in carrying a feather-duster and a rag. He wore the simple clothing that the rest of the servants wore, a tunic of soft suede, and short boots that were little more than slippers. His long brown hair fell over his face, but his eyes peered through it, as he used it as a veil to hide his features.
When the boy saw the blade in Naitachal's hand, he stopped dead in his tracks.
No threat here, Naitachal thought, and put the blade away. "Never mind that," he said, gesturing for the servant to come in. "Just practicing."
The boy smiled, apparently relieved, and stepped closer to Naitachal. He looked up at the Dark Elf, and his hair fell away from his face, which was full of won- der. He stared for several moments, speechless, almost to the point of being annoying.
I'm the first elf this boy's ever seen, Naitachal real- ized, and softened even more. In most circumstances he would not have appreciated this awkward atten- tion, but because of the treatment so far from the adults of this land, a smile, even a curious one, was a welcomed sight.
"You speak Althean," the elf observed.
"Yes. A little," the child said shyly. "They teach it in school. I'm a little keen on it. The teachers say it's important to speak the southerner's tongue, since we're going to be trading with you more soon."
"Do they really," Naitachal replied, a little more dryly than he had intended. He had wondered why so many of the natives spoke fluent Althean. But are they teaching their youth our language to trade with us, or to conquer us? In either case, a grasp of our language would be useful.
The boy giggled, hiding his mouth with a grimy hand.
Naitachal raised an eyebrow at him. "Did I say something amusing?"
"Your ears. They pricked up, just then."
Naitachal felt blood rushing to his face, a mild but uncontrollable response to an old, familiar embarrass- ment. Whenever a human noticed his ears, his reaction was always the same; perhaps it had some- thing to do with growing up in a relatively closed elven culture? This time, though, he was more amused than anything.
"They did that because you said something interest- ing to me," he told the boy, with a conspiratorial grin.
"Tell me, what do the grownups say about Althea?"
Naitachal made his ears wiggle; the boy giggled again.
"Well, that it's warm, and beautiful, and seldom snows." The child sighed as if that in itself was a won- der. "And we can make lots of gold selling male dieren down there."
"But no female dieren?"
"Oh, no," the boy said, as if he'd uttered something incredibly stupid. "Then you could breed your own."
Naitachal burst into laughter. The boy was charm- ing the shoes off him. The child's eyes widened, but in delight, not fear.
This boy can be helpful, in many ways, he thought, his mind turning to the practical side of their mission.
Ironic how the only information we've been able to obtain on this country has been from their youths.
He grinned, and the boy grinned back, now su Naitachal's harmlessness. "Tell me your name, lad."
"Erik," the boy replied, proudly. "Son of E House of Lieslund."
"And I am Naitachal," the Bard replied, with a courtly bow. "Now what does your father do?"
Erik hesitated for a moment, then replied. "He's a teacher at the school. I wanted to be a teacher too, but my father says it's a great honor to serve the King, even if it's only cleaning the rooms for his guests." Erik looked around the room, and shrugged. "Doesn't look like there's much to do here. Nothing like the other rooms I've seen."
"I recall a late party," Naitachal replied, absently.